The Light It Blinds Us
by Holz090
Summary: I'm months late with this, but thought I'd upload it anyway. 3-parter centred around the aftermath of Carla's suicide attempt.
1. Chapter 1

____**I was so annoyed at the writers for depriving us of the angsty, waiting-for-news-on-Carla scenes after her suicide attempt that I decided I'd write it myself! I hope I can do it some kind of justice. This is set between the episodes 29**__**th**__** and 30**__**th**__** September 2011.**_

_**I know I'm about 3 months too late with this, but it's been sitting half written on my laptop for a while before I persuaded myself to finish it. Reviews are always appreciated :) **_

Tea. What was it about tea and hospitals? He barely drank it any other time, yet as soon as he set foot in a hospital he suddenly wanted it on a drip. Still, it was better than a bottle of whiskey. As Leanne passed him yet another cup of barely drinkable sludge, Peter tried to force some kind of smile, but knew he was failing.

"She'll be ok, you know." Leanne tried to comfort him.

It'd been 2 hours since they'd raced to Carla's flat to find her seemingly lifeless on the floor, an empty bottle of sleeping pills by her side and an empty vodka bottle on the table. Peter was no doctor, but even he knew the severity of such an overdose. You don't chase a bottle of sleeping pills with a bottle of vodka expecting to wake up in the morning.

"And if she's not?" Peter signed, putting the cup down on the table in front of him.

"Well then, it won't be your fault. You did all you could for her."

Peter couldn't help but laugh at her claim. He'd failed her and he knew it. He was the one person Carla could turn to and he'd abandoned her when she needed him most. He may not have forced her take those pills, but he may as well have done. It his fault Carla had even got involved with the Frank in the first place. It was him who talked her into accepting his proposal, him who repeatedly told her what a good man Frank was. 'A good man': The words stuck in this throat and made him want to vomit. None of this would've happened if he hadn't had got involved.

Leanne sighed and sat down next to her husband, putting her arm around him. "You saved her life, Peter. She's gonna pull through, and when she does she'll tell you that herself".

"I only answered that call because you forced me to, Lee. "

"…And the only reason you weren't going to was because I made you chose. " She pulled him closer to her, seeing suddenly the conflict in his eyes. "Listen to me, this is not your fault."

Peter sighed and leaned back in his chair. There was no point in trying to make her understand how he felt, he knew she never could.

He sipped his tea; it was tasteless. He wasn't sure if it was his nerves killing his taste buds or the quality of the teabag, but either way it was undrinkable.

Everything felt hollow, almost dreamlike. Like nothing had really been real since the moment they'd arrived at Carla's flat. Placing his cup on the table so forcefully he almost threw it, Peter wished with every fibre of his being that this was nothing but a bad dream. Any minute now, he'd wake up. And the first thing he would do was go over to Carla's, throw his arms around her and tell her he loved her.

He loved her. The realization hit him so suddenly and yet so naturally that for a second he literally stopped breathing. No, he didn't love her. He couldn't, could he? They were both so damaged and she was just so fragile and terrified… How could he even be thinking like this while she could well be dying a few doors away?

What _was _happening? "Where the hell is that nurse?" Peter felt his body suddenly flood with unexplained rage. "She said she'd keep us informed, she's been gone hours!"

"I'm sure she will do, love". Leanne put her arms around him, but he shrugged her off. He wanted to scream at her, tell her to go away and leave him alone, tell her he hated her for those vile things she'd said to Carla mere hours before she overdosed, but the words couldn't come out, so he just moved further over in his chair and looked up at the clock for the sixth time in the same minute.


	2. Chapter 2

Her eyes flickered open slightly, before she hurriedly shut them again.

_Oh God. Please, no. _

Her whole body felt floppy, heavy; as though she had no muscles, no bones, nothing to stop her simply melting into the bed. Her head throbbed and the whole room spun. She felt sick and dehydrated – like the worst hangover you've ever had and worse.

_How? Why? Oh, fuck. _

When she forced her eyes open again, the light hit her immediately and blinded her. As her eyes gradually adjusted to the light, she began to make out her surroundings. The large, bowl-shaped light fitting on the ceiling, the door in front of her, ever so slightly ajar. Forcing her head round, she saw the collapsible rails of her bed and realized for the first time she had a clear, thin tube running down her arm. Only then did she become aware of the shallow, rhythmic bleeping sound. She sighed and groaned slightly, half in pain and half out of frustration.

"You're back with us, then?" A nurse appeared to step out from nowhere and leaned over her, making some check or either that Carla didn't have the energy to care about. Her tone was cold, unemotional. She was used to people like her; she'd seen hundreds of them. She was just another number to her, a different name on the board outside, but nothing special. "Do you know where you are?" She asked, clearly out of procedure and not compassion.

"Hospital…" Carla groaned, her throat weak and sore. She could still taste the tube they'd stuck down her throat, like when you swallow a large sweet whole, and feel it for hours afterwards. It choked her, and made her want to throw up.

"You're lucky to be anywhere at all". The nurse stepped back slightly, her tone still harsh and matter-of-fact. "You had next to no pulse when they found ya, stopped completely at one point. If they hadn't have got to ya when they did… well." There was no end to that sentence, but none was needed. Carla knew how lucky she'd been.

She remembered being vaguely aware of people around her, the sound of voices, panicked yet calm at the same time. Then this strange heat… Had someone cradled her? It was all a hazy blur.

"Who….?"

"Peter Barlow? Says he's a mate. He called the ambulance. He saved your life."

_The phone call. _

Saved by a drunk dial.

_Oh, the irony. _

Her head pounded and the room started to spin again. She knew how this would look. A cry for help, they'll say. She did it for attention, so he'd come running. But it hadn't been like that, not at all. When she phoned him to say goodbye, she'd meant it.

_Oh why did he have to save her? _

When she'd taken those pills, she'd meant for them to kill her. That should have been it, came over. She should be dead right now. And quite frankly, for being so stupid she deserved to be. Since when had suicide ever been the answer? She despised this weakness in people, especially in herself. She'd seen first-hand the affect a suicide has on those around you and she'd promised herself all those years ago she'd never put anyone through that. Especially not someone she cared about.

"He's outside. Been here all night" the nurse told her, fiddling with yet more machinery. Someone from psych's gotta come down and talk to ya, then you want me to send him in?" Her question was barely a question. 'someone from psych'. This was such a routine to her she couldn't even be bothered to use the full word.

_All night? How long have I been here? _

The image of Peter sat in the waiting room cradling a cup of coffee was too much to bare. The guilt flooded her, made her ashamed and terrified all at once. He didn't deserve this. She didn't deserve him.

Carla only nodded, resisting the urge to throw up as she choked again on her phantom tube. The nurse nodded back, before walking out without another word.


	3. Chapter 3

**Thanks for the reviews so far! Here's the final part, taking us up to the opening scene of 30****th**** September. **

Leanne threw the two paper cups into the bin in the waiting area. Peter's was still three quarters full, and she had visions of some poor cleaner picking a soaked through bin liner out of it later on, the bag disintegrating and everything tumbling to the floor. The image amused her for a few seconds, before she caught herself grinning and the guilt instantly set in. Now was not the time or the place to be grinning about _anything, _least not something this childish.

When Peter had gone out for a cigarette 10 minutes ago, she'd offered to go with him but he'd refused. He needed time to think, apparently. About what she didn't want to imagine, but she knew it wasn't anything positive – at least not where she was concerned. He was still angry at her; she could see it in his eyes. He'd tried to deny it but she just knew. Just like she'd known earlier that evening, when Peter had cradled Carla's lifeless body in his arms, that he was head over heels in love with her.

'_Head over heels'? Who the hell says that anymore?_

The look in his eyes when they'd walked in, the desperation in his voice as he'd pleaded with Carla not to leave them… him, broke her heart. He'd spent the time between then and now strutting aimlessly around, snapping at everyone, begging for updates and staring into space. She knew exactly how he felt because almost a year ago to the day, she'd been doing exactly the same thing. Feeling the same mix of worry and guilt, making all kinds of crazy deals with a God she didn't even believe in that he'd just pull through. That night, she'd have given anything, done anything, just for the love of her life to pull through. And she'd got her wish.

_How did we ever get to this?_

Sitting back down again, Leanne ran over the day's events for what felt like the thousandth time. No matter how she told it, no matter how many foolish allowances she made for herself, she couldn't shake the guilt from her mind. Regardless of whether what Frank what saying was true or not, there was no denying that _something _had happen to reduce her former friend, the toughest woman she'd ever known, to a mere shadow of her former self. Something had taken all that fight from her, left her broken and fragile… And she'd just made it so much worse.

"I don't wanna talk to you, I don't wanna look at you, you're a waste of skin." Leanne's words echoed over and over, each time sounding more and more brutal. She'd as good as told a highly vulnerable woman to kill herself and, a few hours later, that's exactly what she'd tried to do.

If she dies, Leanne thought, then it's my fault.

She was brought back from her thoughts by Peter's hand on her shoulder.

_Please just hold me, Peter, tell me it's ok. Tell me you don't hate me, that it's not my fault… _

"Any news?" Was all he said, not even looking her in the eye. Leanne's heart sunk, and it took all her strength not to cry.

"No, no one's come by". She replied, hoping her voice didn't betray her attempts to hide her tears.

"Right".

Peter slumped back into his chair, his head dipped, motionless.

Leanne opened her mouth to say something, to ask if she should just go, to tell him she knew he was in love with Carla, to give them her blessing, she didn't know what, but an approaching nurse stopped her in her tracks.

Seeing the nurse walking over, Peter leapt from his seat, immediately energetic and urgent.

"Are you waiting for news on Carla Connor?" She asked.

"Yeah, yeah we are." He barely skipped a beat, answering almost before she'd finished the question.

"Sorry, I just started my shift half an hour ago. She's awake; still very groggy and weak, but she'll be ok."

"Oh thank God!" Peter's hands went up to his face, and he looked as if he might burst into tears. Leanne knew this feeling, too. "Can we see her?"

"You can, but go easy. I'll show to the room."

"Thank you, thank you so much!"

Peter rushed after the nurse, not even looking back. Leanne stood there for a moment, hoping he'd turn round and say something, anything, but he didn't. Wiping the tears from her eyes quickly, Leanne did the only thing she could do; she followed her husband.


End file.
